The academy's halls unfolded like a promise, polished stone, tapestries threaded with centuries of sigils, and runes inlaid into archways that caught the light and threw it back in soft, scholarly glints.
Students passed in measured groups, their robes whispering, their voices kept, as if the place itself insisted on restraint.
A reflection of the strict hierarchy and decorum that the academy demanded.
Aurelia walked those halls as if she belonged to their geometry, an urging she'd never learned to ignore.
She had come to write her practice notes and a quiet corner to temper the burn of last week's loss, a defeat that had shaken her confidence and reputation. Instead, the smile found her first.
Lucien, the heir to a powerful house, stepped from between two pillars as casually as if he had no audience. His smile was a folded paper, accurate and practiced, edged with charm that had been honed for courts and banquets. Even his walk seemed measured to leave the exact right impression.
"Miss Caelistra," he said with the soft lilt of someone who habitually chose his words like jewels. "A rare sight, alone in the west wing. I hope I'm not intruding."
Of course, you're intruding. You move through corridors like sunlight through glass.
She kept the thought in, let a thin mask settle over her face. "Are you here to practice being insufferable?" she retorted, her defiance a shield against his calculated charm.
His smile widened almost imperceptibly. "Am I not allowed to check up on my future wife?"
He has the boldness of an heir. Aurelia's fingers tightened around the case of her notes until the leather creaked. Be dignified. Smile. Breathe. You are Caelistra, not a rash child.
She liked to believe she could behave as the name required. She liked the idea until the smile became a blade.
She could feel it then, every petty word from nobles folded into the last week's roar, the obelisk's glow still a bruise under her skin. The practiced civility frayed like cheap cord.
For a breath, she wanted to answer with a courtly barb and a clever bow. For an instant, the thought of continuing on with her dignity intact felt impossible.
Aurelia set the case down with more force than necessary. The slate thunked against the stone, and the sound punched through the quiet.
"Do you—" she began, voice tight as a drawn wire, and then, with the kind of instinct that surprises when it is least welcome, she slammed her palm against the wall beside his head.
The impact cracked the stone, sending a crescent of dust fluttering down like sickly snow.
The hall held its breath. A cluster of students had been walking toward them, now, they paused, eyes wide, whispers threading faster than any sigil. Lucien's composure never faltered, but the tension in the air was discernible, like a storm brewing on the horizon.
He did not flinch. He looked at the damage as if inspecting a ripped page, then raised his hands with a casual precision that made the onlookers lean in as though toward a demonstration.
Aether curled from his fingers like a ribbon of clear water. The cracked plaster trembled, the larger pieces lifted in obedient, balletic arcs, and the surface smoothed under his unseen hand until nothing marked the wall but a faint line of mended seam.
He guided the dust back into the mortar as if placing a puzzle piece into place, finished with the same soft smile he had worn when he approached.
"It was just a joke, damage to school property is not, however. I was merely testing your temper," he said lightly, folding his hands.
You are infuriating, Aurelia thought, the words sharp and private. So calm. So polished. So safe. Her throat constricted. I will not be mocked into a smile.
"It wasn't a good one," she said instead, teeth bared in a deliberate politeness. Her voice held for the students and the tutors, for the unspoken reputation that they had.
He laughed then, soft, musical, and not entirely unkind. "I suppose I have finally discovered one of your lesser virtues," he said. "Temper, I meant, not lack of control." He tilted his head, amusement painted in that slight movement. "I found out just now."
The words sat in the corridor like a warm, deliberate stone. Aurelia's face flushed, but not from humiliation, it was anger wrapped in something close to incredulity.
She had struck at him, and he had smiled, repaired a wall, and then called her temper a virtue, as if he had been offering a compliment.
Around them, the murmurs resumed, the world shifting back into study and gossip and the quiet commerce of power.
Aurelia picked up her case, feeling the heat of a dozen eyes, and met Lucien's gaze for a beat longer than courtesy demanded.
"Leave me," she said, voice low enough to be a command for both of them.
Lucien did not move to leave. Instead, he leaned in, the playful curl of his smile gone like a curtain drawn back.
For the first time in a while, his face was quiet and very, very serious.
"Or perhaps," he said, voice low enough that only she could hear, "your blade has dulled."
The blade in her, sharpness, appetite, the things that made her effective and dangerous. The words landed like a small, precise cut.
Lucien's gaze didn't soften. "I do not care for much that doesn't amuse me," he added, almost casual, but the following sentence was the one that pulled at the marrow. "Reputation is a different sort of entertainment. What the courts will say about a duke's daughter losing to a commoner. That is not amusement. That matters. It shapes the alliances offered to my house, the marriage proposed, the whispers counted."
Aurelia felt something like cold iron settle in her chest. He was stating the obvious, yet his tone carried implication, a reminder that their lives were chess games for other people's hands.
She did not shrink. Her answer came with the same small, sharpened smile she'd used earlier at the wall. "Last I checked," she said, chin raised, "Nothing's been signed. Rumor is not law, Your Highness."
Lucien's eyes flicked to her mouth, then back up. "The clock is ticking," he said bluntly, the metaphor thinly veiled as caution.
She let the image land, feeling the familiar weight of a Caelistra. "Then I'll break the clock," she said plainly. "If it's a mechanism that counts my mistakes, I'd rather be the one to destroy it than be wound into its hands."
For a heartbeat, he simply regarded her, the expression unreadable as stone.
Then something like a smile, more dangerous than the last, touched his lips. "Spirited," he murmured. "I suppose that would be… entertaining."
A laugh slipped from him, but it was half amusement and half appraisal now, as if he were cataloguing a new quality.
Lucien straightened, the easy air returning to him like water to a glass. "Very well, Miss Caelistra. Break whichever clocks you like."
He tilted his head, softer. "But be careful which gears you snap. Some of them hold whole houses in balance."
She met the caution with a steady look and a promise that surprised even him when it surfaced. "Then I'll choose my gears," she said.
He bowed slightly, a courteous, almost private concession, and then stepped back into the current of students moving down the corridor.
As he melted away, his departure left an echo: a challenge pressed into the morning like a coin.
Aurelia watched him go, pulse fluttering with something that was not fear and not triumph but the sharp, focused hunger of someone who had just been handed a map with its X already inked.
Break the clock. Fine. First, I'll find out how the clock works.
Cassian slowed as he neared, lips pressed into a graceless smile that tried, futilely, to look apologetic.
He stopped a pace from Aurelia and bowed his head with practiced courtliness.
"Miss Caelistra," he said, voice even. "I—about earlier. My manners were lacking. I apologize for Lucien's—"
Aurelia cut him off with a narrow look that did more work than words.
Of course you do. The prince's shadow comes with an apology in hand. She folded her arms, posture cool.
"You owe me nothing, Cassian. You were at least sensible enough to pull them away last time."
Cassian's smile softened, and for a second the flippant varnish dropped from his face. "I'm not entirely without sense," he admitted. "Besides, it would be unwise for us to start a feud with the Caelistras. Your name carries weight."
Flattery, Aurelia thought. Standard fare from a courtier. Still, there was something oddly plain in the way he said it that pricked me
"How can you stand him?" she asked bluntly. "How can you be friends with someone who'd belittle another in front of a crowd? Loyalty to a liar."
Cassian laughed, short, not unkind. "A liar?" He cocked his head. "Lucien is not cruel because he enjoys cruelty. He's…trained for a role. He learned early how to make people look where he wants. It's a skill, not a mask. He doesn't have two faces, he simply honed one until it worked."
Aurelia's eyes flicked, skeptical. So training replaces truth now? "And you believe that? That he isn't playing someone darker behind the laugh?"
"I've been with him since we were children," Cassian said. "I've seen him tired, when court matters wear him thin. He isn't kind in private, the way some people are, not at all. He's practical, clever, and performs coldly because warmth is dangerous where he stands. That doesn't excuse arrogance. But it does explain it."
There was a pause, during which both measured the other.
Cassian's hand lifted, palm outward in a small, gesture. "Listen. I don't want enemies I don't need, and neither should you. It would be foolish of us to make it harder for you. If you like, I can mention, lightly, to Lucien that you're not to be mocked. It may not change him, but sometimes a word from someone close does more than a public rebuke."
Aurelia considered the offered olive branch, the way it glinted courtly and practical at once. Is he naive or merely deft at flattery? she wondered. Either way, an ally in the right place could be useful.
She uncrossed her arms slowly, the motion deliberate. "Don't lecture me about alliances," she said, voice cool but not unkind. "And don't assume I'm soft enough to be bribed with courtesies."
"No lecture intended," Cassian replied, the faintest hint of a grin returning. "Just…practical advice. The court is a complicated machine. You're excellent at breaking things, perhaps you're equally good at putting them back together, with purpose."
Aurelia's mouth twitched. For once, the compliment landed without the usual salt.
"All right," she said at last, testing the sound. "Tell your prince that his jokes are broken. Tell him I prefer silence to stagecraft. And tell him that if he wants to bargain with my house, he should learn to bargain with respect."
Cassian bowed again, deeper this time, a tiny, almost private concession. "Consider it done," he said. "And Miss Caelistra, if you ever do want to break a clock, perhaps let me know first. I could use the story."
Aurelia allowed herself a brief, controlled flash of amusement. "Noted," she said, and turned away before she could say anything that sounded grateful.
As she melted back into the flow of students, Cassian watched her go with an expression that was hard to read, part calculation, part curiosity.
Aurelia had meant only to steal an hour in the library, tidy notes, margin sigils, the small ritual of arranging facts until the chaos of the day made sense.
The stacks smelled of vellum and dust and heat: comfort in other people's constancy.
She moved through the quiet rows with the practiced composure of a Caelistra, every footstep measured, every fold of her robe correct.
Cassian's words, however, kept replaying like a small, irritating bell in the bones of her composure.
He says Lucien is trained for the role. A skill, not a mask.
Aurelia had wanted to throw the thought away like spoiled tea, but it kept clinging.
Is that what loyalty looks like? Performance as shelter? The idea felt slippery and untrue, and she bristled at the possibility of being soft enough to believe it.
She rounded a shelf and froze. A pocket of quiet opened like a breath, the corner she always preferred, with a window that slanted a pale river of light across the table. Someone had already claimed it.
Kael Arden looked up from a sheaf of slates and was startled. "Your veins are popping," he observed, his voice low enough to be private. "You look like you could chew the stonework."
Aurelia forced a smile that she hoped read only as politeness. Inside, her temple throbbed.
Not at all. Calm as glass, she thought, though the small spike of irritation made her jaw clench. "What do you mean?" she returned, masking the flare with civility. "I'm entirely composed."
Kael's smile was sympathetic. He tilted his head toward the corridor where students still passed, where Lucien's gilded silhouette had vanished into the crowd. "Cassian was with him," he said. "He looked like he wanted to smooth things over."
Cassian…
The memory of his unexpected, practical apology, the odd plainness in his tone, had unsettled her more than she liked to admit.
Kael pushed his slate aside and closed his book. He looked over at Aurelia, who was still deep in thought. "Let's shift gears for a moment, to take your mind off them," he suggested, trying to lighten the mood. "How about we go over our duel? There's a lot we can learn from it."
Aurelia shot him a light glare, arms crossed. "You want to pick at a sore spot? One you were responsible for..."
"No, no," Kael quickly replied. "I didn't mean it like that. I just think we shouldn't dwell on old wounds. Let's focus on something practical instead. We can work on closing those gaps you left during the fight."
Aurelia took a deep breath, taking off her inner armor, knowing she needed improvement. She nodded and replied, "Alright, I'm in." She took a seat across from him, ready to learn.
Kael started to explain, but in the midst of his thoughts, he blurted out, "You know, Aurelia, you're beautiful." Immediately, he noticed her cheeks flush a deep red.
"W-What? That's nothing—" she stammered, clearly flustered.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. "Why are you so red?"
"It's nothing, really," she insisted, trying to regain her composure. But inside, she was both embarrassed and warm at the compliment.
Kael chuckled lightly, "I mean it. Your manipulation of Aether is stunning. It's beautiful to watch. The way the light moved with your spells. It looked like a performance." He spoke as if describing a painting, not offering praise that should have pissed her off. "There's artistry in what you do."
Her face grew a hotter shade. He complimented my magic. He complimented me. Why does that feel like being seen?
She swallowed and tried to shove the small, pleased ache away. "Flattery won't fix gaps."
"No." Kael's tone shifted back to the practical. "Words frame the work. Spectacle can catch eyes and terrify, but it lacks functionality in close exchange. You cast like you're painting a banner, making bold, sweeping strokes. That leaves three issues."
He raised one finger. "First: telegraphing. Your large, beautiful gestures reveal your intentions to your opponent. Subtlety is key; make small gestures that conceal your true aim."
Aurelia tightened her mouth. "So be less obvious," she said, feeling it was both simple and unsatisfactory.
Kael shook his head. "Not less obvious, less honest. Hide your intent in small motions. Big gestures distract, allowing you to misdirect."
He held up a second finger. "Second: waste. You push large amounts of Aether instead of threading it. Volume creates momentum, which is hard to control. Quick, contained pulses are far more effective."
Aurelia reflected on her last surge, realizing the fault in her raw force approach.
"Third: closure. You leave residual threads that can be exploited. Close your patterns to eliminate openings."
Kael leaned in. "Think of Aether like a tune. Ensure your cadence snaps tight so the next note is yours."
Aurelia recognized his focus and felt a shift within herself. She hated being impressed.
Kael gestured to her. "Let's practice small things." He captured a mote of Aether and sent it across the table without a trace. The precision amazed her.
"Show me how," she urged, her voice quiet.
He smiled, pleased. "First, practice micro-pulses. Then, feint with shape, not gesture. Lastly, tie your cast to your breath to conceal intent."
He lightly tapped her hand, sending a tingle down her spine. "Start with ten minutes a day, three clean motions. I'll help correct you."
Aurelia clutched his offer like a lifeline. "You make it sound easy," she muttered.
Kael shrugged. "It won't be. But neither is a duel."
For a brief moment, they shared a genuine laugh, with no audience but just two students determined to improve. Aurelia felt warmth in her cheeks, realizing it was fellowship born from honest practice.
All the drama earlier with Lucien and Cassian had vanished from Aurelia's mind in an instant because of Kael.